


Unexpected Sweetness

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: An Outside Perspective On A Relationship, Developing Relationship, Fenders Eve 2017, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Modern Thedas, Romance, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-22 21:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12490768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: It was an unspoken rule among Hawke’s friends, a rule carved into their very souls for fear of what chaos would be unleashed if the rule were broken: Do NOT speak of Fenris when Anders is present, and do NOT speak of Anders when Fenris is around.Isabela observes the development of the relationship between Anders and Fenris.





	Unexpected Sweetness

**Author's Note:**

> A fluffy Fenders story for Fenders Eve, with a background pairing of Carver Hawke/Merrill and possible Male Hawke/Isabela if you squint.

It was an unspoken rule among Hawke’s friends, a rule carved into their very souls for fear of what chaos would be unleashed if the rule were broken: Do NOT speak of Fenris when Anders is present, and do NOT speak of Anders when Fenris is around. 

It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing. It didn’t matter if they were swimming out in Wounded Coast Bay, taking a hike in Sundermount National Park, shopping the Hightown Market for the latest fashions or trinkets, or even catching a bite to eat in any of the pubs or restaurants along Kirkwall’s winding streets. It didn’t matter what subject came up or funny story could be told during their outings. If Fenris was in the party and the topic involved Anders, the topic was to be avoided at all costs. The opposite obviously held just as true. No Anders, No Fenris, No Fighting.

No one knew why this was a rule, exactly. As far as anyone knew, Anders and Fenris had never even met. They didn’t know the other existed! But Hawke insisted on adherence to this one commandment, and he was a man who never asked for anything in his life. It didn’t stop anyone (Isabela) from asking questions when the two men were absent, or the awkward instances when someone (usually Merrill) fumbled to not say Anders’s or Fenris’s names or opinions on a subject. But the rule mostly held, and Anders and Fenris never suspected that their friends were trying to keep secrets (or an entire person) from them.

“It’s just better this way.” Hawke insisted when pressed. “Trust me.” No further explanation was given, and people (read, all of Hawke’s companions) understood why Hawke was so adamant about Fenris and Anders never meeting. It would be like fire meeting gaatlok: no one would survive the explosion. Fenris was so acerbic and fearful of magic, a remnant of his past in Tevinter. And Anders was not just a mage, but one who wore his magic and opinions on it on his sleeve.

“Freedom is all well and good.” Isabela muttered. “All for freedom. Free words, free bodies, tits flying free in the breeze, but Anders can be a little much.” She rocked back onto her heels, gazing out to the front door of the bar. Her bar, which she kept as clean as a freshly minted silver coin, was as lively as it ever was. Friday evenings were always a busy time, and Isabela was just grateful that the hands she hired to help run the taps were keeping up so she could chat with her friends even as she worked behind the counter.

“He means well. I think.” Merrill replied. She was perched up on a bar stool, her eyes as wide as a little owl’s. She was constantly looking from place to place, person to person as she sipped on the drink Isabela handed her. Cities were a bit of a mystery to a little country mouse like Merrill, Isabela thought fondly, but country mice needed a little fun every now and again.

“Oh, Kitten, Anders always means well. He’s just a little sanctimonious. Very sanctimonious.” Isabela sighed. “I remember when he was a little freer with his charms, such a shame he refuses to use a little magic for a good time.”

“That would be a terrible idea, Man-Eater. No wonder you encourage it.” A woman said sternly, and Isabela smirked before turning her attention to the newest customer at her bar.

“Ahh, it’s the Guard Captain. Those orange stripes look good, Lady Man Hands. Such a sharp uniform, surely you’ve gotten your Detective’s attentions now.” Isabela teased. Aveline rolled her eyes and took a stool to Merrill’s right. She stared at the pinky-peach drink Merrill held in her pale, slender hands and pursed her lips in disapproval, her bright green eyes narrow and judgmental.

“Isabela, what have you given her?” Aveline asked. Isabela could hear a lecture coming, and she didn’t want to listen to it.

“Relax, Aveline. It’s only an Antivan Sunset.” Isabela replied. Aveline did not look relaxed. She only looked annoyed, her cheeks so flushed that her freckles were almost obscured.

“It is so fruity!” Merrill said cheerfully, oblivious to Aveline’s irritation (and Isabela’s delight in it). “Would you like some of mine, Aveline?”

“No thank you, Merrill.” Aveline sighed. She pulled out her phone and glanced down at the screen before shoving it back into her uniform’s breast pocket.

“Give me that Nevarran Pale Ale, Isabela. I had to take Anders in again.” A furrow appeared between Aveline’s thin brows when she spoke. “At least it was me and not a Templar. I swear, if they saw him today he would be sporting a black eye at least.”

“Vandalism?” Merrill asked cheerfully. “Anders is a creative artist!” Her sandaled feet dangled above the wooden floor, and she swung her legs back and forth like a child.

“Unlawful assembly.” Aveline replied. “Maker, I hope Varric ousts Dumar and takes Elthina and Meredith down with him. I can’t believe I want Varric to run this city. Varric!”

“Careful, sounds like treasonous talk.” Isabela teased, but she topped off Aveline’s beer and handed it over. Aveline took a long drink, as if the bitter alcohol was nothing more than water. Isabela was almost impressed. Andraste’s tits, she was sort of impressed. The ale was particularly hoppy.

“Thanks. At least Anders’s fellows scatter before they get grabbed by the worst of Meredith’s goons, and he’s still employed with the Wardens so he can’t get dragged in on trumped up charges of blood magic or demon summoning, but he’s going to get himself killed-” Aveline groaned when she caught sight of the two men entering the bar. “And speak of Maferath and he appears.”

Isabela smiled at the sight of Hawke and Anders. Hawke was all smiles and ease, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He winked at her and she blew him a kiss, because sometimes a handsome man needed a bit of kissing. He leaned against the bar top next to Merrill’s stool and smiled. That smile made Isabela’s heart flutter like a little bird, and she had to remind herself that grown women didn’t sigh over charmers like Hawke.

Anders was dressed in his Warden scrubs and looking utterly worn down and skeletal. His golden red hair was limp and unwashed and falling out of its elastic band. His skin was sallow and there were dark shadows under Anders’s normally bright eyes. The man was running himself ragged, and it was obvious. Isabela remembered a time when Anders would have worn something flashy and bright, his hair clean, earrings in his ear and a smile on his face. Those days were gone. Anders got responsible and reasonable and selfless, and even though she got glimpses of the old Anders, Isabela marveled at the differences between the past and the present Anders. Anders flopped down in the seat next to Aveline and managed to make a half grimace, half smile at her, and Isabela saw the old Anders in there.

“Flattering.” Anders said. “Hope I can grow a beard half as majestic as Maferath, that jealous, sneaky bastard.”

“Not as majestic as mine, of course.” Hawke teased, and he dropped a kiss on the top of Merrill’s head. “And what has Isabela given you, Merrill?”

“A sunset! Isn’t it lovely? Such nice colors! And flavors.” Merrill held the drink up and leaned back in her stool to greet Anders. “Anders, you could use a bit of sun!”

“Not that sort of sun, thank you.” Anders replied, and the tenseness in his expression eased a little bit. “Why don’t you enjoy your drink, Merrill, and I’ll order my own?”

“What’s your pleasure, Sparkle Fingers?” Isabela purred, and Anders scanned the chalkboard listing beers on tap.

“You have gose beers.” Anders said flatly. “A sin against nature.”

“And a tasty sin it is.” Isabela teased. “You want the nut brown?”

“Please.” Anders held out his hand and flexed his fingers. “A Warden Clinic in Darktown is a great idea in theory, but in practice-” Anders shuddered, and Isabela handed him his drink.

“Do you need another donation?” Hawke asked. “Mother loves her charities, she can sponsor another gala for you.”

“I need extra hands, Hawke.” Anders replied. “Got any of those around?”

“I might scrounge them up, if you’re desperate and don’t ask questions.” Isabela offered, but Anders shook his head.

“I need hands that are clean, not drugged up on lyrium, and can show up on schedule.” Anders retorted with no small amount of bitterness, but after he took a drink of his beer he shook his head. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, sweet thing. It must be a rough day for you.” Isabela said kindly as the door opened and another group of patrons stomped in, and she recognized the Hawke twins and Varric. Varric looked particularly harried, and Bethany was following him around with a pen and notepad.

“Do you have any comments on Knight Commander Meredith’s mage registration plan, Mr. Tethras?” Bethany asked as they approached the bar. Carver followed behind, his dark Templar uniform drawing a few stares (and a particularly hateful glare from Anders). Merrill still waved enthusiastically at Carver, who flushed a bright shade of pink and shyly waved back before leaning on the counter. Isabela swatted at his elbow with a dish towel.

“Sunshine, I agreed to an interview tomorrow morning. Take off the journalist hat and have a drink.” Varric said. He greeted Hawke and took a seat next to Aveline.

“Busy night.” Varric acknowledged. “Everyone getting together?”

“Dunno. Invited Sebastian, but you know how he is.” Hawke said with a shrug, and he pressed his palms together and rolled his dark brown eyes skywards. “To indulge in such revelry would go against my teachings.” His accent was particularly good, and Isabela couldn’t stop her laughter. Even sweet Merrill, who didn’t have a mean bone in her body, set her drink down and clapped her hands in delight.

“Your accent is very good, Hawke!” Merrill exclaimed.

“It’s nothing on Anders’s Cullen impersonation.” Hawke said modestly. “Speak, Anders!”

“Woof.” Anders said sarcastically. Carver rolled his eyes and Hawke pouted. There was laughter and Varric even clapped. Anders’s smile finally reached his eyes, the first real smile from him tonight.

“Garrett’s telling the truth.” Carver reluctantly admitted. “He called me one morning demanding to know why I wasn’t at my post on my day off. Then I got yelled at by the real Knight Captain for coming in on my break.”

“Maker’s Breath, Ser Carver, you had the day off!” Anders said, pitching his voice to match the Knight Captain’s tone and lengthening his vowels slightly to get his particular cadence just right. Ferelden, Isabela noted, favoring the southwest. Merrill giggled, Hawke laughed loudly, and even Aveline chuckled as Anders straightened his back and arranged his expression to look particularly stern and displeased.

“If you insist on running yourself ragged I will chain you to your desk and you can file that paperwork I’ve been waiting on for the past week!” Anders declared. “And Ser Carver, if I find out it was you who drank the rest of the coffee without making another pot you will be pulling night shifts for the next month!”

“That is just uncanny.” Carver said with a shudder. “Creepy.”

“You try growing up with him. He trained as a Templar in Kinloch while I was training as a Spirit Healer before the Wardens recruited me.” Anders replied before taking a sip of his beer. “Do you know how often he would pray in the chapel off the Infirmary? On his knees begging for guidance from the Maker? More than Sebastian does, I promise you! I could give entire speeches imitating your Knight Captain Cullen, Little Hawke.”

“And how often does Sebastian get down on his knees? Anyone want to guess?” Isabela asked coyly, remembering all the tales she heard of a certain rich party boy who was on his knees for a variety of reasons before he turned to the Chantry and became a man of the cloth.

“Isabela, don’t be crude.” Aveline said automatically.

“Isabela does not know how to be anything else.” A dry, low voice commented. “It is only her nature.”

Time stopped. Noise ceased to be. Hawke’s companions, all save for Anders, turned and gaped as Fenris stood before them. Sebastian was behind him, big blue eyes as wide as tea saucers as he realized that Anders was drinking at the bar. Fenris looked back at them, rolled his eyes and sighed, and took an empty stool at the bar top. The stool was the one next to Anders. The group held their collected breaths. Isabela wondered if the ensuing fight would destroy her bar, and if her insurance would cover it.

Anders glanced over, as if finally noticing the elf sitting next to him, and took in Fenris’s appearance. He started at Fenris’s his ragged sandals, continued up his long legs clad in dark jeans, further up to the “Vints On Fire” shirt Fenris wore, all the way to Fenris’s rather aristocratic and handsome face and his gleaming white hair and fierce green eyes. Anders stared for a moment, and Fenris held his gaze. Anders’s eyes drifted back down to Fenris’s shirt.

“Vints On Fire? Seriously?” Anders snorted derisively, and Isabela prayed to whatever God happened to be listening that her bar would still be here after this disaster. She was not covered for act of the Maker, and she had just paid to have her floors redone!

“Their new album is not quite to my tastes, but I enjoy their work, especially the use of traditional lute playing incorporated into jazz.” Fenris said coolly. “The Fade Whispers concert tour has had some of their best performances to date.”

“Could you get any more pretentious?” Anders muttered as he took another swig of his beer. Fenris kept his eyes fixated on Anders. Predator and prey, Isabela thought miserably, and all in her bar! At least you’ve got two beautiful men brooding at each other, she consoled herself. You can write some friend fiction when the chaos that is to come is nothing but a fond memory.

“You’re drinking nut brown ale stored in oak casks that held lyrium.” Fenris replied. “Yet I’m the pretentious one?”

“Ouch.” Anders muttered into his drink. “You’re a fierce one, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Fenris replied.

“And honest.” Anders’s lips quirked into a smile. “I like that in a man.”

“Isabela, a drink, if you would. Wine would be preferable.” Fenris said politely. “And perhaps you can give this man another glass, as he is almost finished.”

“Smooth.” Varric said softly. Isabela numbly poured the drinks and handed them over, hardly believing what was before her eyes. Yet here it was. Anders had bent his head slightly towards Fenris, and Fenris’s body was slightly leaning towards Anders as they quietly began to speak to each other. She waited for the explosion, but nothing seemed to come. She quickly hustled over to the others clustered around Merrill and Aveline.

“Sebastian, why did you bring Fenris?!” Hawke whispered, his eyes darting from Fenris and Anders back to Sebastian.

“It’s Friday, Hawke. I always try to get Fenris out of his apartment on Friday evenings.” Sebastian replied. “I dinnae know you brought Anders with you!”

“Anders was arrested by Aveline this morning, of course I was taking him out for a drink at Isabela’s place!” Hawke exclaimed. “I always do that!”

“He was arrested at the protest, right?” Carver asked. “Did Anders throw the paint on Grand Cleric Elthina or was it someone else?”

“What?!” Sebastian yelped. “Anders did what?!” Sebastian had his blind spots, Isabela thought with some exasperation, and Grand Cleric Elthina was one of them. He could never see her as a flawed human, but as the saintly woman who helped him find a place in the world.

“Never mind that right now.” Aveline ordered. “What do we do with them now?” The group turned as one to observe Fenris and Anders at the bar. The two had their heads bent together and were conversing about something. Isabela watched as Fenris’s eyebrows furrowed, he said something, and then- then-

Anders laughed. It wasn’t a dry chuckle or a short bark of angry laughter, but a laugh. A real long, loud laugh that started at the belly and rolled up and out of his mouth, the type of laugh that made his skinny frame tremble and shake like a sapling in a hurricane. Anders was laughing, and Fenris was- smiling? Yes, Isabela was certain that was a smile, and she swore she could sense a swaggering, pleased sort of pride emanating from Fenris’s body.

“I think they’re doing just fine.” Merrill said cheerfully. “Isn’t that lovely?”

As they watched Fenris and Anders quietly speak to each other, smiles on their faces as they talked, Isabela couldn’t help but agree.

How unexpected.

-

Fenris showed up at Isabela’s bar two nights later, on Sunday evening. He was dressed in dark clothing, holding a lined pad of paper in one hand and with a pen tucked behind one long ear. Isabela looked him over and sighed.

“Is this more research for your next book?” Isabela asked, already wondering what strange sort of person Fenris would drag into her bar. Would it be the one eyed Qunari? The elf girl with the rude mouth and hair as bright as a dandelion? The well dressed young man with the mustache? The dwarf with the red beard who drank and drank and drank? Perhaps that sullen man with the dark hair and goatee? Fenris’s strange interviews for his books were always conducted in Isabela’s bar.

“Yes. You could say it is research.” Fenris replied, but Isabela spied the flush on his dark cheeks that spread up to his ears. This was no research meeting. This was no interview. And Fenris was hardly one to blush when meeting a friend. Isabela looked over Fenris again, and realized that the dark clothing was his nice outfit. Fenris had his dark green wool peacoat slung over his arm, and wore his fitted dark dress shirt with his fitted dark jeans and- those were the boots she bought him for Satinalia last year! Antivan leather, it cost a good amount of coin but Fenris had no decent boots and winters in Kirkwall were colder than in Tevinter. His hair had been brushed and was out of his face, and Isabela thought she could smell something a bit spicier on him than plain soap. This was no regular Fenris. This was formal Fenris. And a formal Fenris only meant one thing.

“A date? You have a date, Fenris?” Isabela asked. Fenris frowned at her, but even his glare could not dissuade her enthusiasm. Wait until Varric hears this, Isabela though with glee. Fenris on a date! She would have to sit back and watch every little thing.

“I am interviewing Anders for my next novel.” Fenris said coolly. “He is a spirit healer and quite knowledgeable, and I am writing a murder mystery set in the Steel Age where a spirit healer coroner is also a detective.”

A date with Anders? Isabela thought she might have misheard Fenris, but his green eyes stared right back and seemed to dare her to question him. Anders. Fenris was going on a date with Anders. Maybe I should take out some insurance on this building, Isabela thought. I would like a little something should the walls fall around my ears when these two blow up at each other.

“Anders doesn't bother you?” Isabela asked incredulously, once she found her voice again. “He is a mage, Fenris, and he’s extremely pro-mage. Actively pro-mage.”

“I know. I watch the news as well.” Fenris replied, taking a seat at the bar. Isabela poured him a glass of wine, a habit now. She wondered if she could get away with pouring a small glass of whiskey for herself, but decided against it. It was her bar, and she ran a tight ship around here.

“It doesn't bother you.” She repeated the statement, as if Fenris had not heard her the first time. “That Anders is a mage, a very vocal proponent of mage rights, and that he also takes an active part in resistance movements against the Chantry and the Templars. This doesn’t bother you.” What strange spirit had replaced her friend Fenris, the one who was so prickly about magic and only admitted his fear when terribly drunk?

“Elthina is as power hungry as any magister, and just as dangerous. More so because she hides it so well.” Fenris replied. “Anders is only pointing out the truth, and I confess to being curious at his reasoning. It is… familiar to me.”

“You like him.” Isabela teased, but Fenris’s reaction surprised her. Shocked her. Made her tremble a little because it was dangerous.

Fenris smiled. Not one of those predatory smiles of a man who planned a quick seduction and one night tumble in the sheets. It was not the grimace of a man forcing himself to endure something unpleasant. No, it was a warm, soft, shy smile, and Fenris was not any of these things. Not at all. Yet here he was, smiling with misty eyes and as shy as a schoolgirl. What was Isabela to do? If cynical, brooding Fenris could become utterly infatuated, there was no hope left in the world. Anyone could fall in love and make fools of themselves!

“Yes. I do like him.” Fenris said softly. “Anders is refreshingly honest.” The door opened then and Anders stumbled in, still dressed in Warden scrubs. He had his ragged teal canvas jacket slung over his shoulders, his only protection against the chilly autumn rain and wind. But Isabela noticed that Anders had taken time to wash and dry his hair (such a lovely burnished gold color), and the dark circles under his eyes were significantly faded. And when Anders caught a glimpse of Fenris, his face seemed to light up from within. He crossed the room and sat down on the empty stool next to Fenris. 

“I knew you were pretentious, but I had no idea how much.” Anders said with a teasing smile. “Wine, jazz music, your fancy boots- then I looked you up on Eluvian.”

“Oh?” Fenris sounded bored, but his eyes were fixated on Anders’s face, and Isabela saw his lips curve into a smile from behind the wine glass. She saw it

“You’re the Fenris. The one who writes those historical fiction novels. The Fenris who gets nominated every year for Golden Quill awards for your short stories and historical fiction novels. The one who co-wrote ‘The Blessed Book’ with Varric Tethras!” Anders said with a laugh. “I can’t see why you’d want to talk to a scraggly Mage like me.”

“You are only underfed, not scraggly.” Fenris said decisively. “And I enjoy speaking with interesting people, Anders.” Isabela quietly poured Anders a pint of pale ale and retreated far enough down the bar where she looked like she was giving the couple privacy. But she was eavesdropping. Oh yes, she was eavesdropping. No one was going to believe her otherwise. Fenris, flirting! And quite successfully too, if Anders’s blushes were anything to go by.

“If you’re trying to pry Warden secrets out of me-“ Anders warned Fenris, but he was still smiling. Teasing. It was as if Anders lost all the seriousness and grimness and became the fun, carefree man Isabela once knew.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Fenris replied, and he grabbed the pen from behind his ear and lay his pad of paper out on the bar. “Now, I am interested in hearing about the intricacies of Spirit Healing. There are few mages in Tevinter with the talent, and few advertise their Mage status in the Free Marches.” 

Isabela had to leave the two of them alone for a while when a group came in for drinks. After she tended to her customers, Isabela passed by Fenris and Anders and casually listened in to their conversation.

“What was it like to write ‘The Blessed Book?’” Anders asked. “Did you know Varric before you wrote it?”

“Hawke introduced us, and when Varric learned I wrote he insisted on working on a project together. It was torture. Varric would call at two in the morning. ‘Get up you brooding elf, I finished the latest chapter!’” Fenris replied. “He’s in talks with a studio to have it made into a television series.”

“That’s Varric, always has his fingers in several pies.” Anders said, laughing. “How did you meet Hawke?”

“I came to Kirkwall as a refugee from Tevinter several years ago. Hawke and I lived in the same neighborhood in Lowtown before his family came into wealth.” Fenris explained quietly as Isabela listened in. Her heart dropped. Fenris didn’t talk about Tevinter unless he was going to rail on about the evils of magic. And the two of them had been getting on so well!

“Odd.” Anders murmured. “I met Hawke several years ago. I worked for a Chantry hospital before I opened up the Warden clinic in Darktown. It’s only a level down from Lowtown. Hawke’s mother always runs charity galas to help fund the clinic.”

“Very odd.” Fenris mused. “We know the same people, frequent the same places, have lived in Kirkwall for a number of years, and yet our paths never crossed.”

“Fortunate that they have. I like talking to you.” Anders replied. Much to Isabela’s surprise, Anders reached out and lay his hand on top of Fenris’s on the bar top. And in a shocking turn of expectations, Fenris did not pull his hand away.

“Even if you’re a little pretentious.” Anders added cheekily, and Fenris threw his head back and laughed, strong and loud and beautiful. Isabela had never heard Fenris laugh before. Perhaps bringing Anders and Fenris together was not a disaster in the waiting after all.

And when Fenris grinned up at Anders and Anders smiled back, Isabela couldn’t help but think it was rather sweet.

-

Isabela was in her apartment, snuggling into her couch with a bowl of popcorn and a movie all queued up on her television when she got the phone call. Anders was on the other end.

“Isabela, Fenris is picking me up for dinner in twenty minutes and I don’t know what to wear.” Anders explained quickly. “I don’t know if I have anything to wear!” He sounded deceptively calm, as if he had gone beyond panic. Beyond fear. Isabela sighed and turned off her TV.

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Isabela said, and she locked up her apartment and went down the stairs to Anders’s place. When Anders let her inside it was a disaster. Clothes were scattered across the floor and flung over chairs and tables. Anders was pacing in his kitchen as his lazy orange cat, Pounce, watched him from his perch on the counter. Anders pointed at a pile of fabric on the couch.

“Nothing works, Isabela! Nothing!” Anders exclaimed. The floppy sleeves of his pale blue bathrobe was covered in light pink pawprints, and looking at the fabric made Isabela dizzy.

“Everything is so shabby, and Fenris is so-” Ander sighed. “I don’t know what he sees for me, especially when I look like this!”

“Hush, sweet thing, we’ll work this out.” Isabela promised. “And he won’t notice your outfit, Anders. Fenris isn’t nearly so prim and proper as you think.”

“He’s so- so dignified, though! And educated! He’s a famous novelist!” Anders exclaimed. “And have you heard how he speaks?”

“He also listens to Vints on Fire and hates fish.” Isabela said gently, trying to comfort Anders. “Fenris isn’t so high and mighty, Anders. Andraste’s Granny Panties, he’s friends with Hawke! Fenris is a normal sort of man.” As normal as anyone could be when they were a friend of Hawke’s. Hawke had a nose for sniffing out the oddest of companions, Isabela included.

“Every time I tease him about the Vints on Fire shirt he points to the Apologies to Andraste patch on my jacket and says I shouldn’t throw stones in my glass house.” Anders muttered. “There’s nothing wrong with Apologies to Andraste!”

“Of course not, Sweet Thing.” Isabela replied. She wasn’t about to judge Anders for liking a punk band fronted by a former Bard who left spying in order to pursue music. Anders had a great love for rebel music.

“I’m surprised at how well you and Fenris are getting on.” Isabela said cautiously. “Considering how pro-Mage you are and how, well, how Fenris is.”

“He isn’t anti-Mage, Isabela, he’s just cautious.” Anders retorted. “So I’m running a one man campaign to show him that mages are worthy of his trust, you know.”

“Mages in general, or a particular Mage?” Isabela teased. Anders’s cheeks flushed pink, and he turned his nose up at her. Just like his cat, Isabela thought with a smile.

“Now you tease me!” Anders complained.

“Of course. Now let’s get you dressed.” Isabela ordered Anders to strip out of his robe.

In the end she found something appropriate for Anders to wear from the pile of clothes on the couch. Anders now wore jeans, boots, a white dress shirt, a thick red wool scarf, and she even encouraged him to put on his canvas jacket. Anders wouldn’t be Anders without it. Now he was perfectly presentable and just a little sexy. The whole while Anders talked about Fenris. Fenris is very clever. Fenris has a wicked sense of humor. Fenris has traveled so much of Thedas. Fenris is a wonderful listener. Fenris is rather handsome, don’t you think so Isabela?

“You are utterly infatuated, aren’t you?” Isabela said softly. Who would have thought that it would be Fenris who drew Anders’s attention away from his causes and sense of duty? Who would have thought that it was Anders who could make Fenris smile and laugh and go out into the city for fun?

“Who wouldn’t be? Fenris is so prickly and pretentious on the outside, but he’s special.” Anders insisted. “He’s just- he’s amazing.”

“I’m glad you like him, Sweet Thing.” Isabela murmured. She left Anders’s apartment before Fenris arrived, but she watched him walk up to the apartment complex and enter. He was wearing that green peacoat, and he was clutching a potted plant of some kind to his chest. Flowers? When Fenris and Anders exited the complex and headed down the sidewalk hand in hand, Isabela smiled. When Anders leaned down and stole a kiss from Fenris's mouth, Isabela suppressed the urge to cheer.

How sweet, Isabela thought. Sweet and unexpected.

-

“Your tie is crooked.” Fenris said. He stood in front of Anders and adjusted the blue silk tie. His hands brushed against Anders’s neck and chin, and the rough bristly hair growing on Anders’s face tickled at Fenris’s fingers.

“You would notice.” Anders replied. Fenris felt Anders’s lips brush against the top of his head, right at the crown. Fenris resisted the urge to wind his arms around Anders’s neck and hold on tight. He would mess up their suits if they decided to cuddle. No one would truly notice, Fenris knew. All eyes would be on the bride and groom, not on two members of the wedding party. But Fenris would not embrace Anders, no matter how badly he wanted to. Guests may not notice the wrinkles, but Fenris would know and it would irritate him. But he lifted his chin up and cupped Anders's cheek in his hand, urging him down so their lips could meet in a brief kiss. It was an impression of heat and roughness, and then it was gone. But Anders seemed satisfied with the attention, if his slightly sappy expression was anything to go by.

“Of course I would.” Fenris retorted. “Where is Merrill?”

“With Isabela. I thought she would be more panicky, considering how long she’s spent planning this affair. But she’s as relaxed as a sleepy nug.” Anders said. “Meanwhile…” Anders pointedly looked at the wooden door to their left. They could faintly hear low male voices and the occasional hiccuping sob through the door.

“I- I love her so much!” A man exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly. “She’s so smart and dainty and perfect, and I’m just a clumsy idiot!”

“Of course you are, but you’re her clumsy idiot.” Another man said calmly. “Take a drink, Little Hawke. Daisy adores you.”

“Merrill agreed to get married in a Chantry.” A third man said. “That’s the biggest expression of love I’ve ever seen, Carver, and I bought Isabela a boat!”

“A romantic one, our Hawke.” Anders said with some amusement, and he wound his arms around Fenris’s waist.

“Carver’s dedication should be commended.” Fenris remarked, looking around the Chantry. “I heard that the Chantry sisters still tip toe around him after he bullied them into accepting an elvhen ceremony in the hall. They didn’t even fight over the décor.” 

The hall was decorated with greenery. Oak leaves and acorns formed a great canopy at the front of the altar. Wild roses with their thorns and Andraste’s Grace wound all together in great big garlands that were draped along the pews. It was like walking into a summer forest, and it was all thanks to Merrill’s artistic vision for her wedding and Carver’s determination to give his future wife the best wedding he could provide.

Never let it be said that Hawkes went by half measures.

“Is Carver inside the choir room?” A pretty, bell like voice asked politely to Fenris’s right. "Or am I interrupting something?"

“Yes, he's inside. You should go see to him, Bethany.” Anders said flatly. “And let me cuddle Fenris. He so rarely allows it, you see.”

“You are entirely too cuddly, Anders.” Fenris retorted, but he returned Anders’s embrace. It was only the beauty of the hall and the romanticism of the event, Fenris told himself. It would affect anyone, and he was not made of stone!

“Will do. If you two are planning to get amorous wait until after the ceremony to start ripping off clothes.” Bethany said with some amusement before she slipped into the room where Carver was bawling his eyes out. They were alone in the hall once again, waiting for guests to file in and the ceremony to commence.

“Andraste’s Knickerweasels, and here I was hoping I could seduce you out of that suit.” Anders murmured into Fenris’s ear. Fenris weakly slapped Anders’s arm and pulled out of his embrace. He took Anders’s hand and led him to a bench within one of the Chantry’s many little alcoves. They sat down.

“Foolish man.” Fenris said. “You hardly need to seduce me.”

“I enjoy it.” Anders replied. “Hawke denied us so much time together we now have to make up for it.” He punctuated his remark by lifting Fenris’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. Fenris rolled his eyes and tried not to blush.

“He did it with the best intentions in mind.” Fenris said weakly. “He believed that you, an extremely active Mage Rights member, would not get along with me.”

“A working class Tevinter citizen who was abused by mages.” Anders finished Fenris’s thought. “It must have been a shock when we found parallels in each other.”

“It certainly illustrates how similar people truly are.” Fenris murmured. They gazed out at the Chantry hall, which was slowly filling up with wedding guests as Leandra hustled into the choir room and shooed Varric out. He waltzed out across the hall to enter another similar room where Merrill was waiting with Isabela and Marthari. As guests filtered in and took their seats in the pews, Anders shifted on the bench to fully turn to Fenris.

“I don’t want to steal Merrill and Carver’s day, you know.” Anders murmured. “That would be terribly rude, you know. To announce an engagement at a wedding.”

“Of course.” Fenris agreed easily, but he squeezed Anders’s hand. Anders was shaking like a leaf. Or was it him? Fenris couldn’t tell.

“But I’d like to marry you.” Anders whispered. “Would you be my husband, Fenris?”

“I’d like that.” Fenris said simply. “Very much.” Anders lay his head on Fenris’s shoulder, and Fenris leaned into Anders’s warm body. They sat quietly and watched the hustle and bustle of the people together, perfectly at peace.

“We can go ring shopping soon?” Anders asked softly.

“When are you free from your responsibilities at the clinic?” Fenris replied.

“Tuesday evenings.” Anders answered promptly.

“We’ll go to a jewelers then.” Fenris promised. “And we will announce our engagement to our friends at a later date.”

“Won’t they be surprised?” Anders murmured, and Fenris agreed.

Meanwhile, somewhere across the Chantry, Isabela watched Anders and Fenris lean into each other and whisper, their eyes full of each other. She watched as Fenris leaned up to whisper something into Anders’s ear. She watched as Anders rubbed small circles into the inside of Fenris’s thigh with the pad of his thumb. She watched them, and she smiled.

How unexpected, she thought with a smile, and how sweet.


End file.
